


atlas

by chameleonchanging



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Where did everybody go?, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26966032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chameleonchanging/pseuds/chameleonchanging
Summary: Wolffe walked away in the black market. There are consequences.The aftermath ofthe last light.
Relationships: Plo Koon & CC-3636 | Wolffe
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	atlas

When they return to the Courageous, Plo is withdrawn. More than that - every adolescent has moods, and Plo is no different from his peers, but he’s shy in a way that Wolffe can’t remember seeing. He’s of the age where his demeanor can add or subtract years in people’s estimation, and if Wolffe didn’t know better from his reading on Kel Dor development he would have put money on it that his Padawan Commander was in primary school and afflicted with a terrible case of separation anxiety. The boy is as quiet and polite as ever, but he hides himself behind his Master, blending into the background, only drawing attention when he startles at unexpected noise. The troopers, accustomed to having someone to spoil with what few luxuries they have, suddenly find no trace of him outside of official business, and always glued to General Tyvokka’s side when there is. 

Trauma affects nat-borns differently, Wolffe thinks. They’re not made to stand up against the stresses of war, and Plo is still a shiny. His tusks are still growing back, and he’s been noticeably off balance when he walks. Something about them and Kel Dor equilibrium. He’d bar him from combat, but they get caught up in an ambush and there isn’t much he can do about that except hope for the best. Afterwards, when Catch is doing his post-battle recalcitrant walking wounded rounds, Wolffe sees the back of his robe disappearing into the tent he shares with the General and assumes he’s been looked after. 

Which is why when he walks into his  _ jettise _ ’s quarters on ship a week later and finds Plo on the floor contorting himself to reach a poorly-healing burn to his back, he’s completely blindsided. “What the hell, kid?!” he snaps, rushing him. Just as quickly, Plo untwists and scrambles back, pulling his robes around him to hide the weeping, bleeding mess.

“I’m fine - It’s nothing -  _ Don't touch me! _ ” he snaps, and Wolffe freezes, staring in shock. Plo’s never used that tone of voice. He’s too polite. 

“How long has that been there?” Wolffe demands. “Does the General know?”

“Yes,” Plo says mulishly, inching away. 

“Don’t lie to me, kid, you’re shit at it,” says Wolffe. He steps closer and Plo backs away, matching him. “How long have you been hiding that?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Plo says, keeping Wolffe in his direct line of sight even as he tries to escape Wolffe’s, to no avail. He backs himself into a corner in his retreat. Wolffe makes a note to work on his situational awareness. 

He lunges at Plo, who tries to squirm away, but Wolffe didn’t grow up with brothers for nothing and snags him across the middle, lifting his tiny, scrawny, underfed form off the ground and hauling him over his shoulder. There’s no dignity in it for Plo, being carried like a sack of potatoes, beating against Wolffe’s back furiously as they head for the medbay. 

“Let go of me!” he yelps, his claws raking across Wolffe’s ship greys. 

“It’s infected,” Wolffe says shortly, turning the corner. “I don’t know if anyone told you, brat, but your spine is under there and it’s kind of important.”

“So what?” Plo grumbles. He gives up and crosses his arms. “Stop pretending like you care.”

Wolffe freezes. If it were anyone else, he’d dump them on their ass for a reckoning. As it is, his grip tightens painfully on the back of Plo’s knee before he takes a deep breath and regains control of himself. “Of course I care, Plo,” he says. The doors slide open for him, and he goes to the first empty bunk he spies, setting his mildly-homicidal passenger down. 

“Ni shuk meh kyrayc,” Plo mutters, staring at the ground. 

“What the hell’s gotten into you?” Wolffe growls. Catch sticks his head out of his office and makes a threatening motion. Wolffe flips him off and turns his attention back. 

“Nothing,” says Plo.

“Sergeant! Plo’s got an infected back. Di’kut’ika hid it for at least a week,” Wolffe calls, staring Plo down. “And something’s wrong in his head too. He’s having delusions.”

“You  _ left me _ !” Plo spits out, shoving Wolffe away. “I saw you. Everything hurt and I wanted to die and I saw you walk away. So don’t pretend like you care. You don’t.”

By the time he’s finished, every other word is interrupted with shaky clicking as he cries. He’s worrying at the hem of his sleeve, his claws catching in the rough weave and tearing through the threads. He looks -

He  _ is _ a child. He doesn’t belong in a war or a black market. If there were any justice, he wouldn’t know the weight of chains on his limbs or the sharpness of knives on his back. He can’t begin to process his experiences. All he knows is that he needed help, and no one was there. 

For the first time, Wolffe begins to understand General Tyvokka’s rage. They’re all so young in comparison, even the oldest troopers. And if Plo doesn’t belong here, what does that mean for the brothers his age back on Kamino, already immersed in drills and tactics and live-fire simulations? 

What does that mean for Wolffe, who lived exactly the same?

He shoves his new revelation aside for another time and crouches in front of Plo, bringing them to eye level. “Hey,” he says, dropping a hand on Plo’s knee. Plo ducks his head further, but Wolffe presses on. “When I found you - gods, I wanted to tear everything apart. I wanted to. I swear it. But if I’d tried, they would have killed you. I’ll always pick you hurt over you dead. You hear me?”

Plo doesn’t answer. Wolffe sighs. 

“I can’t say I’m sorry I chose the way I did, Plo. But I’m here right now. I’m not walking away unless you tell me to.” He waits for Plo’s answer. Plo looks away. Wolffe sighs. “All right, kid. I’ll call the General for you. Someone’s got to know what’s going on with your back.”

He gets to his feet feeling ancient, like his joints are creaking under the weight of his heavy heart. He drops a hand on Plo’s head the way he would to ruffle a brother’s hair and turns to go. 

A small hand reaches out and snags his sleeve. 

Wolffe smiles. 


End file.
